


take my hand (speak my name)

by LtTanyaBoone



Category: X Company
Genre: F/M, Post s2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtTanyaBoone/pseuds/LtTanyaBoone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She doesn't know how to tell him that there is no way to fix what has been destroyed inside of them, that there never will be. So she simply leans in and kisses him again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my hand (speak my name)

**Author's Note:**

> Set right after the S2 finale, so spoilers for what happens in that episode.

She startles awake with a soft gasp, sitting bolt upright on the sofa. Her heart is racing, she's trembling, her lungs hurting as she breathes quickly, her ears trying to pick out what woke her.

"Sorry."

Alfred's voice makes her jump and her hand shoots to her chest.

"Dammit," she mutters, pressing her hand against her skin in an effort to calm her racing heart.

"I couldn't sleep, I thought I might stretch my legs..." he tells her, his voice soft in the darkness of the apartment. She finds herself shaking her head.

"No, it's okay," she nods, drawing a couple of breaths. They're whispering into the dark, but now that her eyes have adjusted, she can make him out. Standing halfway across the room, facing the direction of the window.

Neil and Harry are in the kitchen and bathroom, sleeping. Hopefully sleeping. Aurora wanted Neil to have the couch, but he insisted on the bathroom. Might have had something to do with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed.

Harry got the kitchen because... she doesn't even remember, honestly. Maybe because he was feeling cold and could turn on the stove?

Aurora shakes her head and shifts, settling her coat over herself again. Alfred's makeshift bed across the room is slightly dishevelled.

"If it bothers you-"

"Don't walk too close to the window," Aurora cuts him off and closes her eyes, ending the conversation. She hears him draw meassured breaths before he begins slowly walking around the room, stocking-clad feet making soft sounds on the lino. She starts to count his steps, tries to follow him through the room. He pauses every so often, breaths ragged from the exertion of being as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb her.

"Alfred," she whispers and hears him shuffle, a ragged breath escaping him. She must have startled him. When she opens her eyes, she finds him where she had figure he would be, turned towards her.

"Stop. Please," she mutters and sits up again, this time throwing her coat off. "Sit, or do something else, but don't try to sneak around the room."

"I thought, if I kept quiet..." he starts, hesitates. "I just wanted to let you sleep," and then "You need it."

She waves him off and stands, stretching and rolling her neck.

"Training kicks in. I can't sleep when I hear muffled footsteps. If you're loud, it's okay, because then you're not an intruder, not someone trying to get the upper hand by surprising me..." she trails off, suddenly self-conscious. She used to sleep better, she thinks. Weeks ago, months ago. When it was her and René and she could listen to his heartbeat and let it lull her to sleep.

"Harry is next door; I don't want to wake him."

Aurora shakes her head. "No, of course not," she allows with a sigh. He is right, Harry needs to sleep. Needs a few hours of blissfull dark and not having to remember.

Slowly, she sinks back onto the couch, reaches for the coat. She runs her fingers over the material, feeling for the two small holes left behind by the pin that had secured the yellow star to it.

Alfred slowly makes his way over and sits down next to her, staring straight ahead.

"I should apologize," he says and she finds herself staring at him with a frown before he turns his head. "I should not have kissed you."

_Oh._

She opens her mouth and then has no idea what to say, so she closes it again and draws a breath.

"I'm sorry, I overstepped-"

"Don't," she presses out and closes her eyes against a sudden well of tears. She cannot do this, cannot do it now, especially. They have just lost Tom, she cannot hear Alfred talk about the kiss like this. 

"Please, don't."

Her voice is barely audible. She feels him shift on the sofa and then his hand touches hers and she lets out a soft sob before her free hand makes it to her mouth to stiffle any further sounds. She doesn't want it to happen, especially now, but she cannot help herself, it's just too much and suddenly, the full weight of the past weeks come crashing down on her and she can feel herself unravel completely.

Dimly, she feels Alfred let go of her hand and then he had his arms wrapped around her and pulls her close and does the same, clutches at his back, buries her fingers into his shirt and uses his shoulder to muffle her sobs. His hand is pressing against her back and the other is cradling the back of her head and he is rocking her slightly. And she just starts crying harder, because it reminds her so much of René, but this is Alfred, and she should not feel what she does for him.

"It's okay, I got you," he mutters softly to her and she draws a ragged breath and then leans back enough to turn her head and capture his lips again.

This time, it's not soft and sweet and gentle. It's rough and desperate and too much, but it's also not enough, it's so far from being enough. Her soul aches along the edges of where it was torn apart, her body tingles where Alfred's hand have touched her, and it's such a strange contrast that it makes her feel like she is finally going crazy, is finally losing it.

To her surprise, he kisses back. Kisses back with such fervor it makes her gasp, makes her hands move up, from his back to his shoulders to finally bury in his hair and pull him closer. She feels him grab her waist and moves to straddle him, knowing that they shouldn't be doing this, this is wrong, this is Alfred and this is the safe house and they cannot do this, especially not here, especially not now, but his hands slip under her skirt, ghost along the skin of her thighs and she grinds against him with a soft moan leaving her mouth.

"Aurora," he mutters as she tugs on his shirt, is a moment away from tearing it apart, but then remembers they don't have any other clothes and abandons the buttons in favor of going for the fly of his pants. He lets out a hiss and arches into her touch and her eyes open, finding his screwed shut. She leans in to kiss his neck and shifts when she feels him tug at her underwear, sliding off him to allow him to pull it off before she yanks down his pants.

His mouth is on hers again, kissing her, making her see stars. He makes her see fireworks, beautiful colors exploding behind her eyelids as she straddles him again, slowly letting him slide into her, stiffling his moan with another heated kiss. It feels so good yet it hurts so much; it makes all the jagged edges of her shattered soul stand out and rub against her skin as they move together. She wants to get closer, wants to get as far away as possible and he pulls her in and kisses her like he's drowning and she's the oxygen he so desperately needs.

Her back arches and she presses herself against him, their rhytm faltering, and just as her world completely explodes, she feels him spill inside of her, groan muffled against her lips.

Her lungs ache as she draws ragged breaths and allows herself to collapse against him, ribs expanding, stretching her skin. It's clammy, sticky, like after getting chased through the streets by Nazis.

Alred brushes her hair to the side and kisses her jaw, the other hand still squeezing her hip just this side of painful.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes once she trusts herself to speak again. She is, she should not have done this. Shouldn't have kissed him like that, not after learning what just saying her name meant to him. But she needed to, wanted to, was dieing to know what would happen if she did. If she dropped the pretense that there is nothing between them, that this connection between them is something she has with all the others on the team. She had it, something like it, before, with René. But it was different, they were so similar, both of them burning so bright against the darkness around them, stroking each other's flames. Alfred is different, he is not a raging forest fire threatening to consume everything around him. He like a rainstorm, washing away the dust and grime and blood and foundation and leaves a fresh smell in his wake, leaves a sense of a new beginning when the flood finally receedes.

"Please, don't," he whispers, repeating her own words. She gathers her strength and leans back, still straddling him, so she may see his face. He's staring at her, like he did in the beginning. Like he started to on that street on their very first mission, when she told him to just focus on one thing, to simply focus on her. He looked at her like she was his salvation then, did it for days, weeks. And he is looking at her like it now, too, like she knows all the answers to the universe's questions and he would be happy to die in her arms. Like she can make him whole again; can take the broken pieces inside of the both of them and somehow fix them.

And she has no idea how to tell him that she can't. That for all the bravery she puts on, she is scared shitless, especially right now, especially right here, especially with him. She doesn't know how to tell him that there is no way to fix what has been destroyed inside of them, that there never will be. So she simply leans in and kisses him again. Slowly. Softly. Like that first time, all those countless hours ago, when life was just a tiny bit easier and they weren't as damaged as they are now.

_fin._


End file.
